


Comfort

by bgd_thrifty



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Issues, M/M, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2012-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-16 19:07:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bgd_thrifty/pseuds/bgd_thrifty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's body may have changed, but his brain remains much the same. This is not a genderbend fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> Unfinished as of yet due to writer's block i'm just getting over, and un-betaed (so please mind my mistakes). My main problem with 'bodyswap' fics is that they don't seem to deal with the fact that though the body has changed, the mind is still the same. This is my attempt to write what I want to read.

"So what does this mean, then?" Harry is tapping his foot against the marble floor – who has marble floors in their office, anyway? – and he still can't quite get used to the way it feels as the fat jiggles on his thigh. He doesn't think it's a good look for him. The Healer, the third one he's seen in as many weeks, looks at him pityingly and Harry feels like punching her. He reckons he could do that now, with this body, and no one would have that knee-jerk reaction that they would if he were the way he's supposed to be.

 

"What it means… Mr Potter–" Harry can't describe how much it hurts to hear her hesitate before his title "–is that we are looking not at reversing the effects of the combined hex but instead at ameliorating your symptoms." Harry's sure that she thinks that all sounds very good. If he weren't the one in the predicament, he might think the Healer very reasonable. As it stands, he hates her.

 

"Healer–" Harry realises that he doesn't even know the witch's name and his eyes flicker down towards her ridiculously ornate desk in order to discern who she is. "–Peachdew. Helen. Can I call you Helen?" He couldn't care less whether she wants him to do so or not, but he feels like, having had her hand up his nether regions, they should be on first name terms by now. She looks unimpressed and Harry decides to move on in order to not distract from the task at hand.

 

"This situation is not really acceptable," he says. He's used to getting his own way. He's Head Auror, a big-shot and a pretty big fucking deal. Doors haven't been closed to him for a long time.

 

"I understand your worries, Mr Potter, but there is really nothing we can do. I'm sure you're familiar with more than one permanent resident of St. Mungo's. There are things that are beyond our understanding. Things that cannot be undone. And this, I'm afraid, is one of those things. And before you ask," she continues, reading his mind as if by Legilimency "further additions or removals by magic could end in disaster." Harry hates how calm she looks. For her, this is an odd case that she will file away and forget about as long as he has no 'problems'. For him, this is his life changing. His life being ruined.

 

"I see." He runs a hand over his arm and his stomach clenches as he regards his small hands and thin forearms. He's lost more than half a foot in height and his body is proportionally much smaller. The reduced amount of body hair also disturbs him. Healer Peachdew coughs and Harry takes his time in looking up.

 

"You are perfectly functioning," she offers, as if that is something he cares about.

 

"Oh thank goodness! What would I do without my fully working _ovaries_ and fucking… _fuck_!" He can't even say the other word. Hasn't looked at it or touched it. The chest was funny for a while when he thought it was reversible but the rest was… _is_ unimaginable. It's wet and slick where he expects smooth dry skin and _in_ where he expects _out_ and Harry thinks it's all very well and good seeing how the other half live but he just wants to go back to the way he was.

 

He's done here, though. The Healer is shuffling together parchment, clearly indicating that her precious time – which Harry is paying dearly for – is up. Harry supposes that his outburst, which the Healer carefully ignored, didn't help. He stands, and it's still disorientating to be looking up at people where he looked down before. The Healer holds out a hand for him to shake and Harry does so, hating the way his hand doesn't grip the way it used to. Hating how delicate he feels, like he might break if breathed on the wrong way. Why have so many things changed? He's short and small-boned with little muscle tone. The healers tell him that this body isn't just a female version of the one he used to have, but the body he might have been born with in another universe. If he wants to be as athletic as he once was, he's going to have to build it up from scratch.

 

As he walks out into the foyer, Harry catches sight of himself in a mirror. He's wearing a faded t-shirt from his school days and a pair of jeans he borrowed from Hermione. He's been holding onto hope that this would all be fixed, that a new wardrobe wouldn't be necessary. He looks like a little girl, one that can't even brush her hair for herself. It's arranged itself in a tangled mess around his head and even though Harry's cut it to the same length as his original style, it doesn't look the same. He sighs and pulls at the hem of his top, trying to flatten his chest. They're not big, thank fuck, but they're _there_ , and Harry hates himself for that.

 

**

 

"'Ello, darling!" It's the way that Seamus always greets him and it's hard-earned from the often frosty reception Harry received from Seamus during school. At the same time, however, Harry can't stop himself from flinching, a mannerism which thankfully goes unnoticed.

 

"Someone hack your legs off?" Seamus continues, already flushed with alcohol and chuckling heartily at his own joke.

 

"Har-de-fucking-har, Seamus," Harry says, and where his dark mutter might actually have shut Seamus up in a distant life, now it only causes Seamus to laugh all the more.

 

"Harry – or should I say Harriet?" ' _No,_ ' Harry thinks viciously. "Your voice is ab-so-lutely _hilarious._ " Harry has had enough. He tunes out Seamus's high-pitched impression of him and tries to signal the barman for a drink. There aren't that many people trying to get the man's attention and so, when Seamus finally finishes his performance, Harry is dismayed to still be standing there, drinkless. It's disconcerting, and Harry is saved from actually having to call out by the entrance of his loyal best friend.

 

"Harry, mate, good to see you!" Harry self-consciously runs a hand through his unruly hair and winces as his hand snags through the tangles. He'd had no problem giving it the bare minimum of treatment before, but ever since Hermione had suggested that he grow out his hair a little and start using a better shampoo he's spitefully done just the opposite. He doesn't give a fuck about his hair. Never has and never will. Ron slaps a palm against his back and this time Harry can't help the small gasp that escapes him. Ron pretends he heard nothing, but Harry knows not much gets past those keen Auror senses. What was he expecting? Ron's now a foot taller than him and probably half his weight again. Harry reckons he's going to have to toughen up.

 

They start talking about work, and Harry feels out of place, even though he and Ron are in the same line of work and Seamus is not. But he _has_ no work stories to tell, unless filling out paperwork has suddenly become riveting. Seamus works in the Ministry for one of the odder departments that Harry can't quite figure out what they _do_ , but he can still string together a more interesting story than Harry can right now. Auror field cauldrons too thin on the bottom, inadequate Patronus incidents… Where's Percy when you need him? Oh yes, having a midlife crisis because Penelope's followed through on her threats to join Magical Law Enforcement and he's been left feeling inadequate. For once, Harry's glad he had no partner before… all of this. He still thinks Penny'll make a great Auror, though.

 

He supposes it's good, getting time off field work. He's nowhere near strong enough for the chases he used to go on. He'd gotten a lot of stick from the women in his department for saying that before he not-so-gently reminded them that while they're all fully grown and trained women, he has the body of a thirteen-or-so year old. They're hard where he's soft and it's _not_ a good thing. Until he's stronger, or at least more used to his body, he'll only be a liability. They'd uncomfortably shifted at that, but it's true regardless of whether he's Head of the department or not.

 

Stepping down temporarily though he is, he still wants a bloody ale right now, and he's going to end up committing quite the faux pas if this bloody barman doesn't –

 

"Oi, mate! Can I get a drink over here? Cheers," Ron says, accomplishing in moments what Harry has been trying for ages to do. Money exchanges hands and Ron levitates the drink in front of Harry.

 

"Bottoms up, Harry!" Harry does not, as instructed, chug his drink down. He plucks it grimly out of the air and sets it down on their table with not a little force. Some of it sloshes over the edge of the glass and Harry notes Seamus watching it mournfully. ' _Alcoholic,_ ' he thinks, nastily.

 

"So what, Ron? I'm a fucking girl now, yeah? Going to buy all my drinks for me without me asking?" He's seen many men over the years do that to women who are perfectly capable of buying their own drinks, and until now, he's never realised how irritating it is to have everything going over your head. Literally, in some cases. Ron seems completely taken aback.

 

"Harry, remember the bit where we're friends? And sometimes friends buy rounds? Yeah, remember that next time you fly off the handle." Harry might have been able to accept that, but Seamus coughs something that sounds suspiciously like 'PMS' and suddenly – in a manner that Harry will attribute entirely to accidental magic – Seamus is drenched in the contents of Harry's pint glass.

 

"Whoops," Harry says, his voice dripping with poison. The eyes of the whole pub are on them. "Guess the next one's on me, then."

 

**

 

"Potter, you fucker, hold the door!" Harry keeps his eyes low. He catches a glimpse of platinum blonde hair and furious grey eyes just as the lift doors close. That might have been awkward. He's avoided all confrontation with Draco since 'the incident' and he'd like to keep it that way. No good would come of Draco seeing what's become of him. It's hard though, avoiding him. They both work in Magical Law Enforcement and with Harry stuck behind a desk these days, it's becoming harder and harder to prevent their paths from crossing. Especially when he knows Draco's seeking him out.

 

Thank goodness they haven't demoted him yet – although Harry awaits with increasing trepidation that owl at his window. At least Draco's kept busy for the most part. 'Muggle-Worthy Excuses' don't create themselves. Harry finds it odd where this particular Malfoy has found himself, but as long as he's not actually Obliviating Muggles, Harry couldn't care less. Now, if this was Lucius Malfoy he might kick up more of a fuss. He's probably a bit more lenient on Draco Malfoy than he should be, in fact the Weasleys delight in telling him so constantly, but it's hard not to give someone a little slack when you've had your cock up their arse on multiple occasions.

 

Nevertheless, he can't let Draco see him like this. Draco likes his men big and on the hairy side. Harry used to fit those criteria and now he's a shadow of who he used to be. It's just too embarrassing to contemplate actually meeting up with Draco and having him size Harry up (and find him wanting). He won't subject himself to that. He's got more pride than that, small comfort though it is. It's not like he's a saint. He has things that he looks for in partners as well. But he's going to have to completely switch who he goes for now. He's just not going to attract the same people and he has to accept that.

 

**

 

Okay, this is weird. It looks right, but it doesn't _feel_ right. They'd made pretty clear, every Healer that Harry went to, that he can't add or subtract anything to his body without potentially screwing himself up majorly. But things like this leave him sorely tempted. Glamours are fine, they'd reassured him. Yes, to bloody _look_ at. But this doesn't feel anything like the way his underwear used to rub against his dick. It seems really sordid to him when he thinks of it like that, but it's true. And the only way to make the glamour hold for an extended amount of time without him renewing it is for him to… _pad_ himself out a little. If he was to tell anyone that the junk he's packing is ninety per cent sock and ten per cent magic, he's sure they'd laugh him out of England. But anything that'll make him look more like his old self is welcomed, even if people have a bit of a disconnect. Harry doesn't care if their first perception of him now is ' _girl'._ He's a fucking bloke and that's that.

 

The bottom half is one thing. The top is another. Adding with fudges and glamours is easy. Taking away is another story entirely. No matter how many times he practices and redoes the spell, he fancies he can see the swell of breasts beneath his shirt. He panics at the thought of someone brushing past him and feeling something they're not supposed to. Giving him a second glance when all he wants to do is be himself. So he ties himself in knots with endless wraps of bandages and nearly passes out once or twice from the corset-like effect. It's worth it for the next time he sees his friends and they exclaim how boyish he looks with his flattened 'curves'. _Boy_ , not man. But it's infinitely preferable to girl or woman.

 

He fucking hates this.

 

**

 

He's getting there. He's getting back to fighting fit. Today, he'd been able to best Clearwater in a labyrinth duel and while she's not the best of his Aurors, she certainly isn't an opponent to sniff at. Harry can feel his muscles coming back, although that isn't really down to their team training sessions but to the hours and hours he spends pumping iron when everyone has gone home to their loved ones. His elation wears off when he realises that he's got a meeting with the other heads of MLE and bloody Kingsley and he smells like nothing on earth. Harry closes his eyes, breathes in and breathes out. He can do this. He doesn't have to be exactly on time. He is Harry Potter, after all, and that counts for something, even now. Harry wastes time by tidying up after the others and finally, he reckons they've all left the showers.

 

Much to his chagrin, Penelope Clearwater is still there, tending to some bruises that Harry might feel guilty about if he didn't have several himself. They'd had a decent relationship before she joined the Aurors, what with her essentially being his sister-in-law much as he dislikes Percy sometimes, but lately Harry's been getting a bad vibe from her. He can't understand why.

 

"Penny," he says, starting to unhook his robes. She huffs and turns around and Harry wonders if all the women do that in the changing rooms. Privacy's not something he's used to, and he finds the lack of communal showers here odd. Odd, but welcome giving his current situation. In the men's, he'd felt far too exposed. He'd known some of them – Ron for example – for two _decades_ but the way they look at him now, even though he's the same person, is just unnerving at times. He'd been glad when it had been 'suggested' to him that he use the other changing room. He's never had cause to think about it before, but he thinks the segregation's weird, really. What purpose does it serve? He's bi. Quite a few of the team are gay or lesbian. So if it's leering they're trying to prevent then the 'guidelines' don't really work. Harry tries not to think about it too much but he does know that being in the men's showers makes him uncomfortable and he's blatantly not wanted in the women's.

 

"Oh, Harry, put it away," Penelope says, making a face, and Harry's got no idea what she's talking about. He's got a towel on, firstly, and he's made sure to keep his legs shut. _That_ was something he's had to start thinking consciously about.

 

"What?" he asks after she doesn't elaborate.

 

"Don't you… you know, get rid of your hair?" Harry was delighted to find that with the exception of his face, hair was growing just fine elsewhere, if a bit thinner than he was used to. He didn't appreciate feeling naked in his own skin. What he hasn't been thinking about since that joyous revelation is other people's reactions to his decision to let it do its own thing.

 

"Why would I?" Penelope looks like she's about to vomit.

 

"Because it's ever-so-slightly disgusting, perhaps?"

 

"Shove off, Penelope." That's what he says, shrugging as if he doesn't care, but inwardly her comment smarts. He's always been like this. Is he only disgusting now because now people have decided that he's got all the plumbing so might as well be a woman? Harry has never encountered so many people who want to tell him what to do with his body until now. Stop working out, Harry, you're getting too muscular. You've got to let your skin breathe, Harry, take off the bandages. Let your hair grow out a little, Harry, it suits you. Cut your hair _off_ , Harry, it's vulgar. Why can't people just live and let live? Harry's never paid more than the barest hint of attention as to whether the women he's gone out with have been hairy or not and he vows to never do so in the future, no matter what opinions people try to push on him.

 

**

 

Harry's glad he's bisexual. That makes re-evaluating his sexual orientation incredibly easy. He likes men and women just about equally, and he's never been so glad of that fact until now. He's pretty sure his dating pool has narrowed – he's just not sure how, yet. His first date is with a friend of Hermione's. Incredibly intelligent and probably out of his league, but Harry's willing to go for it anyway. When she meets him, she seems a little taken aback and it's not until after their introductions that Alice spills the reason for her discontent.

 

"I must say I'm surprised. I don't do relationships with men, and it seems a bit odd to have a one night stand with a good friend of a friend." Harry's not sure if he's angry with Hermione for setting him up with someone who prefers _women_ or happy that Alice has read him as masculine. Male.

 

"I'm not averse to a little bit of no-strings fun," Harry says, winking. Alice gives him an appraising look, and Harry's pretty sure he's not found wanting.

 

**

 

"Oh, you're transgendered?" Harry's confused.

 

"I've honestly got no clue what that means, Alice," he says, although he's sure it's a muggle word that's got something to do with the fucking thing-or-lack-thereof between his legs. All he wants is for Alice to keep not being disgusted by what's under his clothes, to carry on kissing him the way she is and for her hands to stay exactly where they rest on his biceps. Harry's proud of his upper arms – he's certainly worked hard on them since his life went to shit. He wants her hands to stay there and away from his chest and his waist and his hips and other places he'd rather not mention.

 

"It's just… won't you take the bandages off?" Alice indicates at Harry's chest and though Harry tries to distract her by biting the skin over her collarbone softly, her hands start to creep inwards. He wants to snap at her, but there's no reason to, is there? Wrong as his body may be to him, there's not actually anything to be ashamed of. Hesitantly, Harry reaches for his wand and the charm he casts causes his binding to unravel like something out of a movie. When Alice runs her hands over his breasts, he's sure she takes his shudder as one of pleasure.

 

They're small – smaller even than they were before he started working out. He's whittled his body fat down as much as he can, and his breasts have disappeared accordingly. Alice cups each small mound with her hands and rubs gently over Harry's nipples with her thumbs. The sensation is pleasant – more than pleasant, but Harry is still uncomfortable. He pushes her backwards until her knees collide with the bedframe and they fall back laughing.

 

Kissing Alice and then between her – perfect, supposed-to-be-there breasts – Harry reaches a hand down Alice's soft round stomach to her groin and slips a finger into her moist heat. Her breath hitches and Harry shuffles down the bed to add his tongue to the equation. He's good at this. He's good at getting people off. When Alice comes, it is with beautiful huffing breaths and Harry basks in the moment.

 

When Alice recovers, however, she turns them over until she lies on top of him and now it is her hand that quests downwards. Harry can't stop himself from grabbing her wrist. She looks at him, her expression bemused despite her orgasm-flushed cheeks, and a loose tendril of her hair brushes Harry's face.

 

"What's the matter?" she asks, and Harry chokes on the words he wants to say.

 

"N-nothing," he says instead as Alice starts rubbing his clit. The sensation is not wholly alien and that's what upsets Harry the most. He doesn't have a dick anymore – realises that keenly every morning as he steps in the shower – but this feels so very similar that Harry feels his eyes prickling. He shuts them tight and Alice must have misinterpreted his statement because she starts to slide two fingers into him and the pain is so searing that he slaps her hand away.

 

"Ow, fuck, _ow_ ," he hisses. "Is that _supposed_ to fucking burn?" Harry has no idea how people manage to shove anything larger than a curious finger up there, and he's only tried it with his smallest one.

 

"Harry, are you a virgin?" Alice asks, and her tone is shocked.

 

"What? No, of course not." Harry pauses. "Well, I've never been fucked." He'll allow Alice to make of that what she will because he's certainly not going to go into the full story with her. Alice responds by running a hand through sweat soaked hair. She looks distressed and Harry occupies himself with ignoring the not-unpleasant throbbing deep in his lower abdomen.

 

"Look, Harry," she says, getting up off the bed. "I hate to be that woman leaving you dissatisfied after getting my fill, but I'm not that into guys. I only came home with you because you were such a laugh and yeah, I really like you. But you're putting me on edge. I feel like I'm assaulting you." Harry tries to protest, but the power of speech has left him. Alice pulls on her clothes quickly and efficiently and kisses him on the cheek.

 

"I'll let myself out."

 

Harry can't help but feel relief as the door shuts behind her.


End file.
